“That’s not a word”, I chided Emile as he lay down another lettered tile
“I’m the writer, Clara I think I know words”
I decided to consult the official scrabble dictionary and found that ‘Quires’ was in fact a word.
“Amazing”, I said
After two weeks of scanning the classifieds I had all but given up on finding a job. As I became more frustrated I decided to distract myself by spending time with Emile.
We traded bits about our past lives but I wasn't quite ready to divulge everything.
Our midday game of Scrabble had led us well into the night.
I hadn’t heard the house stir from Mr. Fierro’s presence, he was never around
when I visited or locked away in his office behind the stairs.
“I think we have a winner, Clara”, he said adding up our points, “Now I should really get some work done”
“What do you write ?.”, I asked
“ Scholarship mostly. I used to write films and fiction on the side. Now, I do a little of everything.”
“I should go before Mr. Fierro returns. . .I don’t think he
likes
Emile wrapped up the board and shook his head
“You have to understand Clara, Mr. Fierro is a busy man"
"Is he ?"
“Yes, he has been letting me stay here for almost a year so I can concentrate on writing without having distractions because he enjoyed my last book so much. . . I’ll get you a copy.”
“Does he pay you ?”
“Well. . . once the book is done, he will.”
“So you’re like a writer on demand ?”
He laughed
“I guess”
We moved out of the parlor and I stood in the hallway while he put the game
away. I admired the grandfather clock in
the hallway when the front door opened.
Mr. Fierro strode in and shrugged of his coat and snapped open his pocket watch before turning to face me. He then preceded to walk past me as if I were a lamp in the room.
Emile’s large footsteps broke the silence, he seemed surprise that Mr. Fierro was there and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Ms. DeLune and I were playing a little game”, he explained not realizing the tension “She really is interested in that piano, Fierro.”
“Well unfortunately it is in my possession”, he said to Emile.
With that he walked past us and towards his office. I boldly followed and idea forming in my head.
“You know”, I stepped in, “I’m thinking of buying my own. Emile tells me that you pay him for his writing. . . I could compose a symphony for you and you could pay me”
“I have no need for a one-woman symphony, Ms. DeLune”, he said.
He quickly settled behind his desk. Every shelf was piled
with books, many with titles I didn’t recognize, like every room in the house
there was a vase of roses on his desk.
“Then why do you have a piano ?”, I asked, “You know where I’m from I’m very talented.”
“I have no need for a symphony”, He repeated, then he started to think for a while and started to slowly circle me, “But a woman—“
“How dare you”, I interjected.
“Honestly, Ms. DeLune.
I meant a maid.” he sat back down and started opening a pile of sealed
envelopes, “Emile seems to be distracted
from his writings and could use some one to tend to his needs”, he spoke
carefully, “and so could I”
“Just a maid ?”, I couldn’t believe I was even considering this
“Yes, I would of course pay you.”
My mother would have fainted at the thought of her youngest
daughter being a maid, perhaps a few weeks ago I would have even scoffed at the idea. I had a master' degree.
“I’ll take it”
“You can start after the weekend. . . and Ms. DeLune ?”
“What ?”
“You are young, probably unaware of so much. I doubt you’ll understand but I do believe in discretion.”
“I understand.”
+++
The dust fell like a shower as I moved the ancient
phonograph from the top of the closet, it was another among many little
treasures I was starting to discover in my grandmother's house.
Not knowing what was proper for a maid to wear I spent the weekend looking through my grandmother’s closet. My grandmother had always been a slender gentle woman and some of her dresses fit me perfectly but I still wasn’t comfortable in them.
The third room on the 2nd floor had a wardrobe in it and once I had cleaned it out I saw a phonograph. I recognized it from the textbooks in my American Music class I had taken at Rochester.
I fiddled with the phonograph for a few minutes and as the pin caught there was a soft crackle before Debussy began to play softly. The sound went in and out but I had already memorized the piece.
Like my eldest sister Claudia would have done, I walked to the center of the empty room and outstretched my legs in her ballerina fashion. I turned slightly on my pointed toe and closed my eyes.
I was in the family room of our home estate. Mom would be at the piano, tuning it for today’s lesson.
Claudia and Clarice, my older s sister, hated spending hours hovered over the instrument and would rather watch TV, but I loved it. From the time I was 7 years old I could hear tunes and melodies before I played them, it all fit so well.
Whenever I would play Claudia would practice her ballet while Clarice watched from the couch, Dad would have his arm around her so she wouldn’t feel left out.
I stretched out my hands as if keys were underneath them and I could feel my mom sitting next to me as we played a duet.
I took another step and was met with a sharp pain.
I gasped as my foot hit a nail in the floor and the imaginary world I was in tumbled down with me as I fell onto the hard floor.
The music had stopped playing.
+++
I buttoned my white collard shirt and after much internal debate I decided to pair it with a pair of grey slacks and the flip-flops I had arrived in. My swollen toe was bandaged in a tea cloth.
This was something I would have worn to my job at St. Theresa’s Academy but I had to make an impression on my new boss.
I locked the door behind me and walked across the street to my first day working for Mr. Fierro.
As I approached the front door I realized that I had never entered through this door I usually came in from the backyard.
Before I could knock the door swung open and Emile’s smiling face greeted me. His hair was disheveled and it appeared as if he hadn’t had a chance to shave.
“Did I wake you ?”, I asked..
“Yes, but it was much needed. I would have slept through the afternoon.”
It sounded like something I would have heard back on my days on the Greek Quad.
“Is that Ms. DeLune”, Mr. Fierro called from the living room, his sharp voice sliced through the air.
“Expecting anyone else ?”, I asked, following his melancholy voice, Emile followed behind me.
The living room was lighted by a bright drop chandelier, it shone over an ornate Persian carpet, a large glass coffee table sat in the center decorated on all sides by cream and red colored baroque furniture.
It was entirely to lavish and Mr. Fierro seemed to fit in as he sat perched in one of the chairs dressed in black pants a white shirt and a deep red vest, with his hair pulled back. His coat was laying over the chair, pocket watch in his hands
“Now, Emile”, he said looking past me, “Remember I’m paying Ms. DeLune to help you, so that you can focus on your writing . . . don’t let your friendship get in the way of this.”
“Alright, alright”, said Emile, “Lighten up a little”
“Ms. DeLune”, Mr. Fierro turned to me, “I think Emile and I could use some coffee this morning.”
I hated being told what to do, I resisted the urge to tell him to get his own coffee but this was my job now and every minute of his insufferable attitude would get me closer to that Piano.
“Okay.”
“Ms. DeLune”, he said before I could walk off
“Yes?”
“When I give you an order I would prefer you to respond ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Sir or Mr. Fierro will also due nicely.”
“Yes, Mr. Fierro”, I said
I turned towards the kitchen and rolled my eyes in Emile’s direction. He smiled and settled into the living room with Mr. Fierro.
The kitchen was very similar to mine, there were a few foodstuffs in it. Again I had to laugh at the absurdity of this strange world. There were old fashion cans and packages with names I recognized like “Coke” and “Kraft” while others were just porcelain canister filled with coffee, sugar and what looked like goldfish.
Mr. Fierro seemed to have a penchant for coffee, there were 28 different varties. I decided on hazelnut cream and went to work preparing the steel French press on the counter. I found a decanter of cream in the 1940’s refrigerator and got to work quickly.
I had fastracked my way through an MFA and somehow found my biggest accomplishment was now serving men, once again I’m sure my mother would have fainted at the sight.
I balanced the coffee, cups, cream and sugar on a silver
platter and carried it out to the living room.
The coffee table was now lined with pages from a typewriter, Mr. Fierro and Emile sat hunched over the sheets each of them with a pen in hand editing the words. I glanced quickly at the sheets.
I didn’t catch any written dialogue; the words were entirely to formal.
“Excuse me”, I said moving a few of the sheets to set the tray down, one of the cups tilted but it didn’t fall.
“Thank you, Clara”, said Emile
Mr. Fierro said nothing but continued to stare at the page his pen clasped tight in his hand. Emile busied himself with preparing his coffee, he seemed to like his black.
“Ms. DeLune”, Mr. Fierro didn’t look up from his page, “Do you expect me to stir my coffee with my finger ?”
I had forgotten spoons.
I hurried back to the kitchen and searched through the cabinets and drawers till I found a tiny spoon and took it back to the living room.
“2 sugars and cream”, Mr. Fierro ordered making small marks along the page he was reading.
I tentatively picked up a spoon and but two sugar cubes into a cup, I poured a steady stream off coffee into the cup till it covered the cubes.
Mr. Fierro’s eyes never left my hands
A splash of cream and I began to stir it but stopped
“Clockwise or counter-clockwise ?”, I asked
He didn’t answer so I did one of each, I wondered if he wanted me to hold it up to his thin pressed lips for him as well.
“Ms. DeLune, as Emile knows I like to keep a clean house. I’m sure Emile’s room could use some straightening up. It’s the third room on the right.”
I looked to Emile to help me out of the demeaning situation I was being put in but he seemed to tolerate Mr. Fierro’s behavior and waved at me to go upstairs.
I certainly hoped this was all worth the piano.
+++
For the first few days Mr. Fierro took charge with giving me orders. Actually, the only time he spoke to me was when he was giving orders or demanding explanations.
I hadn’t quite picked up what exactly he did for a living (so to speak ) but I could tell he was well off. He spent most days locked in his office. Emile always seemed to treat him with reverence that is when they weren’t pouring over Emile’s novel.
Usually I was assigned simple tasks making coffee while Mr. Fierro and Emile edited chapters from the book, then clean and organize each room on the second floor, all except Mr. Fierro’s of course
He kept his room locked and on the farside of the house, If I remembered correctly his room would have been the one with balcony.
If I liked anything about my new job it was the piano room.
I was specifically told to stay out of that room but I couldn’t help but to catch a few glimpses of the ivory piano. Everyday there would be a different type or rose decorating the vase on top of it.
After I had finished dusting all the furniture in the hallways and making sure the bathrooms were stocked with honey-suckle bar soap Mr. Fierro favored I went to the living room to see only Emile hard at work over his typewriter.
“How’s it going ?”, I asked Emile
“Better.”, he said, “It’s so hard to write a greek tragedy in a modern world. . . have a seat.”
I looked around and realized that Mr. Fierro must have left while I was cleaning upstairs. I happily obliged.
“Is this a modern world ?’, I asked. “I mean look at this typerwriter. . . yet there is a seemingly modern refrigerator in the kitchen.”
“Clara, to put it simply people bring parts of their life and times with them here. It makes them feel a little more at home.”
“Is every place like Nightfall. . .I mean it’s sort of old ?”
“When it comes down to it everyplace is really the same. People just trying to figure out what comes next.”
“I should clean the grandfather clock”, I told him and resumed to my work.
I peered out the window and spied Mr. Fierro had infact not left. He was in the garden with a young girl. She was a pretty petite blonde. He held her hand and appeared interested in what she was saying but his face never moved from its usual stoic position.
Leaving the duster on the floor I tipped into the piano room and open the lid, just so I could just be near the keys. The piano was situated just below a mirror. It was the only mirror in the house.
I slid onto the bench with no other intentions other than to sit. I didn’t dare close my eyes. I didn’t want to be reminded of being alive and the joy that music always brought me.
The lid was raised and a single flower was stuck in between the keys.
I reached out to to pull it free when a the lid slammed down with immense force.
Oh, God
Mr. Fierro peered down at me, he didn’t blink as he stared at me with disgust.
“I—I-“. The hard exterior I had melted away. This man
terrified me.
“Ms. DeLune”, he punctuated each syllable, “My guest and I will be acquiring your service.”
Of course another order.
“Yes, Mr. Fierro”, I stammered
“Do not dally from work, Ms. DeLune. Remember today is payday.”
My eyes lit up at the thought of getting paid, finally this week in hell would be worth some compensation.
“Yes, Mr. Fierro”, he seemed pleased that I was keeping this up.
“Coffee will be fine”, he ordered
I hurried out of the seat only to falter on my still swollen toe. I tried to fall gracefully but landed on the floor with a thud.
I didn’t even wait for him to help me up because I knew I wouldn’t. He just watched and looked down at my flip-flops
“Some appropriate shoes, perhaps”, Mr. Fierro said
I ignored his comment and cradled my hand that had a splinter sticking out of it.
“My God, Ms. Delune. I will fire you if you continue to be injured”
He was dead serious.
I hated this.
I hoped that in the years my parents employed maids to keep the house while they were traveling that they never treated them like this.
One look could make me feel that I was beneath him.
I quickly busied myself with making the drinks, it reminded me of my first job as a barista.
I washed the silver tray and marched back out to the garden ready to prove I was fully capable of doing my job while injured
The garden was empty.
I turned back to the living room to see if they had joined Emile.
“Clara”, said Emile sitting alone in the room, “you shouldn’t have”
“It’s for Mr. Fierro and his guest. . . where are they ?”
“Oh”, he seemed a bit embarrassed, “they are upstairs”
“Upstairs ?”, I thought about it, “Upstairs ?”
I could just imagine how perfectly placid he would remain be if I walked in on him and his girlfriend holding a tray like an idiot.
I certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, and to make maters worse he had decided to do this on pay day.
I didn’t let my frustration show to Emile and excused myself back to the kitchen, I still had work to do.
+++
The grandfather clock ticked quietly and as the big hand moved to 5 and the little one settled on 7, I wondered how much longer until Mr. Fierro remembered about me.
I shifted my position on the Parlor couch staring at the clock as the seconds ticked by. I had run out of work a few hours ago and sat waiting to receive my pay.
Emile had excused himself for an engagement he had in town and I sat alone in the house except for Mr. Fierro and his lady-friend.
I let closed my eyes till I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, I sat up and dusted of my clothes. He stopped mid step and went back up before coming back down. His clothes were in the same neat fashion and he didn’t seem at all in a better mood.
He walked into the kitchen and from my angle I could see him pick up the turn-dial phone that I didn’t even think could work.
He waited a few seconds before the phone picked up.
“Good evening”, he said into the phone, “Yes, in a months time. I will see you then.”
He hung up the phone and walked over to where I was sitting.
“Ms. DeLune I believe we have some business to take care of.”
I nodded not intending to be conversational.
He walked into one of the backrooms and I couldn’t help but to wonder where his friend was. Maybe I had walked into the house of a monster who killed his prey.
“You’ve done a sufficient job, Ms. DeLune you will have to take care of the stair case. Additionally I know that you are fond of my piano and flowers. Once a week I will allow you to change the roses in the house, I belive there are 9 rooms”
Sufficient.
I had performed all of my menial task to the best of their ability. Thinking he could allow me to touch and be around the things I enjoyed.
He handed me an envelope that was held together with a wax seal
How eccentric is this man ?
The wax was still warm and I was able to easily remove it, he hadn’t expected me to open the envelope infront of him.
I counted out the money and it was exact and familiar.
“What is this ?”, No wonder Emile didn’t want to be around when I was paid.
“It’s your payment, Ms. DeLune”
“No It’s not”, I waved the money in his face, “This is the money I left here when you wouldn’t sell me the piano.”
“Yes, and when you left it here it became mine and now it is once again in your possession”
“This is Ms. Ginger’s money I plan on giving it back to her. . .”
“That sounds like a personal issue, Ms. DeLine.”, He opened the front door, “Good Night”
I knew yelling would strengthen my resolve but if he planned to pay me the same amount then I should only have to work for him for about 5 months maybe there would even be a Christmas bonus.
I counted to five and escaped the monsters’ house.
+++
I had been summoned with a note.
Wednesday while making Coffee for Emile and Mr. Fierro there was a calligraphy style note attached to the French Press.
Be in the garden at noon
- Mr. Fierro
I knew they were hard at work on Emile’s book but I started to wonder if he didn’t want Emile to know he wanted to see me.
As I served coffee (2 sugars and cream) I gave Mr. Fierro no indication that I had seen his note but since I was working for him he knew that I would be there.
I left the men to work and went about my usual day dusting, organizing, shining. The house always had to be clean I wondered if Mr. Fierro had a maid before me or if he did it himself.
I arrived a few minutes before noon in the garden. Mr. Fierro was already on the back deck sitting at the outdoor table.
“Follow me, Ms. DeLune”, he held open the gate and walked towards the lush rose bushes.
“Where is Emile ?”, I asked
“I said ‘follow me’, Ms. DeLune”
That wasn’t an answer but I made my way over to him. He kneeled down in the dirt something I would never expect him to do in what looked like expensive clothing.
Next to him was a variety of ceramic pots with young fluffy white roses in them.
Of all the days to decide to wear a skirt I had gotten in town last week. It was a modest length but not something to wear in the dirt.
I copied his movements knealing a good foot away from him. He reached out into the dirt taking a handful of soil into his pale white hand and watching it fall back to the ground.
“You’ll be tending to my garden now, Ms. DeLune. As I will no longer be able to”, he said not even looking at me, he had let that last part slip, “The roses needed to be watered twice a day, be sure not to drown them.”
“Why won’t you be able to ?”
“Are you listening, Ms. DeLune ?”, he said
“Yes.”
“The English roses need to be planted”, he motioned to the ceramic pots, “dig about a foot before planting them.”
“Yes, Sir”, I said. This was easy and seemed like it would be relaxing.
“The Snowfires can be used in the piano room”, he gestured to a bushel of white roses lined in dark red.
I was distracted by the blushing pink color roses that were nestled together, they were simple and beautiful unlike the 200 dollar ouquet I was supposed to carry on my wedding day.
“What are these?”, I asked
Mr. Fierro carefully stood up from the ground, not even bothering to dust off his pants, he unbuttoned the coat he was wearing and handed it to me,
“Put this in the hall closet, I’ll be inside Ms. DeLune”
He walked inside before I could get a “yes, sir” so I decided to use his coat to kneel on.
+++
I was surprisingly resourceful.
I had spent so much of my former (possible only) life in restaurants and frozen food aisles that I didn’t think I even remembered how to bake anything.
The weekends allowed me more time in my house than I knew what to do with, I had scoured the kitchen and enough ingredients to bake the tea cookies my grandmother loved to make.
Considering this had been her house I wasn’t surprised.
I placed spoonfuls of what tasted like blueberry jam into the center of the butter cookies, and carried the tray outside to see if Ms. Ginger wanted any company.
The front door to her house was propped open but I still called out before walking in.
“Ms. Ginger ?”, I stepped in knocking on the open door.
I knew Ms. Ginger’s house pretty well, it was smaller than
many of the others on
I heard laughing coming from the living room and followed the voices. I didn’t know she was having guest over.
I stepped over the threshold into the living room, Ms. Ginger was sitting on the sofa a long discarded game of checkers on the table and half a cake, next to it was 2 empty wine glasses. Sitting across from Ms. Ginger was Mr. Fierro.
Or what looked like Mr. Fierro
His sleeves were rolled up and one insignificant button on his shirt was open. His straight hair fell freely around his face. His eyes were the same though and even if Ms. Ginger didn’t see it I knew what he was saying
Get Out
“I didn’t know you had company—I’ll just”
“Stay dear”, she pointed to the TV, “They are about to broadcast a music special.”
I couldn’t say no to Ms. Ginger, so I found myself confronted with where to sit.
I could squeeze next to Ms. Ginger and have Mr. Fierro stare at me, or I could sit next to him and risk him not acting to be repulsed by’ the help’.”
“Addie, move over let Clara sit down”, Ms. Ginger scolded him as if he were on of her children, I tried not to laugh.
He did so rather quickly and I set down the tray of cookies.
“Are you and Mr. Fierro friends ?”, I asked
“Since I’ve lived here about 20 years”, she turned towards Mr. Fierro, “Mr. Fierro ?”
“Ms. DeLune is working for me”, he said, “I’d prefer it”
“Well, I’ll get some more wine”, Ms. Ginger said heading towards the kitchen.
I wanted to beg her to stay, but as expected Mr. Fierro took the lead.
“Fetch my coat, Ms. DeLune”, he said
“I’m not working”, the nerve of him
“I don’t recall setting any rules, Ms.DeLune, and I will not have someone working for me speaking to me that way.”
Now he was threatening to fire me?
He could have this one.
I went to the hall closet and found the coat to match the outfit he was wearing and took it back to him, Ms. Ginger was back in the room and looked confused.
“Why do you have to go?”, she asked him.
“I have a lot of business to take care of, Mollie. You know that.”
He held out his arms and I slid the coat over his shoulders. He reached into the pocket and removed his watch.
Upclose I saw the watch was monogrammed with an intricate letter ‘L’
I was tempted to take a closer look when he placed it back in his pocket.
“Ms. DeLune”, he said on his way out.
I waited till I heard the door shut before turning back to Ms. Ginger
“What a strange man”, I said
“You think so ?”, she mused.
+++
“What about birthdays, Emile ?”, I called from the kitchen, happy to be washing dishes in my own house.
“What about them ?”, he asked.
“Do we get any older ?”
“Of course we get older, but aging. . .not really. . .no”
“I’ll be 22 forever ?”
“It’s not a bad age”, he replied, joining me in the kitchen expecting every inch of it, “This house is exquisite”
“Thank you”
“A woman’s touch---it’s exactly what Fierro Manor needs.”
I finished all the dishes and lead Emile to the sitting room.
“Who was that blonde Mr. Fierro was with the other day ? Was she the old maid ?”
“Mr. Fierro likes to entertain ladies every now and then. . .especially those who are close to the Bordeaux's ?”
“Who are they ?”
He laughed.
“Title holders, socialites really.”
“What kind of titles?”
“Oh you know, Royalty”
Royalty ?
“Nightfall has a Monarchy. She was a princess?”
“Titles, Clara”, he didn’t seem to have any revere for them, “The family has been ruling over Nightfall for centuries. Not that anything really changes.”
“I find that very interesting. . . So Mr. Fierro is like a noble or something ?”
“Not exactly, No”
I really needed to visit a library.
“You really love that piano”, Emile said changing the subject
“Yes”
“You’re very talented”
“I was a prodigy, my parents said it was a miracle, they owned A number of prominant music conservatories. . . I’ve been around classic music my whole life.”
“That’s lovely”
Was it ? I had let my parents down.
The light of their life had been snuffed and I couldn’t even tell them that I was okay. I wondered if my childhood baby grand was still in the living room. I wondered if they were mad at me for dying.
I was supposed to be so many things I was like the unfinished song on my dresser back home, not far from an unworn white wedding dress. My sisters and friends probably cleared out my apartment together. . .
“Don’t cry, Clara”
I touched my eyes.
“I can cry?”
“Of, course”
How odd it was to sit around and grieve the living.